


Startling, Shrieking, Shopping

by Meduseld



Category: Common Law (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Demons, Could be pre-relationship if you want, Demons, Halloween, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 04:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11246187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meduseld/pseuds/Meduseld
Summary: Travis has a lot of Halloween spirit, for a human. Wes has very little, for a demon.





	Startling, Shrieking, Shopping

It’s not that Wes has a problem with Halloween per se.

Sure, he liked it a lot better when it was more Samhain than Scooby Doo and there were actual witches running around (well, _more_ actual witches. You’d be surprised what some of those vegan co-ops get up to) but the holiday itself is pretty bearable. The real problem is that Travis is… _enthusiastic_ about Halloween.

Actually he’s enthusiastic about every holiday, but Halloween comes first. Narrowly followed by Christmas, but that’s a whole other issue.

The point is, Wes can’t get away from it, because Travis covers the bullpen in cobwebs and streamers starting October first, and gradually ramps it up until the office party on the 31st. And Wes has to help with the decorations.

Ever since that one year that Travis somehow accidentally got his hands on actual tombstones with actual blood sigils on them, _holy shit_ (“Wes can you even say that? Or is holy like fuck for demons?” “Shut up and let me focus or you’ll bleed out, dumbass”) and the time after that with the spell book (those vegan co-ops) and that time with the haunted vase (“my sister didn’t know and you can’t use this to hate Halloween man, it’s April!”) mean that Wes has imposed a Rule: No buying spooky stuff, no matter how commercial, without me.

It’s stygian torture but nobody’s raised the dead (nobody they know, anyway) since.

That’s how Wes ends up glaring at a glittery skull with _‘creppy’_ stamped on its forehead too early in the morning on a Saturday while Travis gushes about fake blood recipes with the heavily tattooed woman behind the counter because he can’t just go to Walmart and load up a cart like a normal person.

Travis likes to argue that Wes’ fondness for capitalism proves that it’s demonic but Wes would like to see him putter around for a couple of centuries without being able to buy strawberries whenever he damn well pleases.  He makes an unhappy noise and Travis finally saunters over and tries to poke at the furrow between Wes’ brows.

“What’s wrong this time Grumpy Gus? Everything? Or just everyone?”

Wes shoves him, telekinetically. Just a little.

Then he angles his chin at the lettering on the skull: “That’s intentional, right? I don’t know which one would annoy me more.” Travis pretends to mull it over: “Knowing you, both.”

Wes shoves him a little harder.

—

Shopping with his partner is irritating at the best of times, but the third time they pass the same sexy…sailor? Chef? Whateverer costume because he will not admit he is lost in the stupid warehouse sized party store at the far end of town he found through a friend of a friend of a sister’s ex Wes has to stop, close his eyes and count upwards by multiples of three.

Demons are ritualistic and numerical by nature, to the point where he sometimes wonders if they deliberately infected humans with OCD. It _would_ explain a lot.

The thing is somebody would have gotten a commendation for it.

Probably.

Office politics are the same everywhere. The truth is some of the most successful demon strategies on Earth are just cribbed from home.

As it is, he’s got a quick way to get rid of any curious looks.

For about three seconds before they start in with tabloid psychology.

But none of that really matters; he’s just distracting himself from what really bothers him, beyond the fluorescent lights and smell of plastic.

The real problem is Travis expects him to be _excited_.

He understands Wes’ issues with Christmas but he doesn’t get why he’d dislike Halloween (“It’s a holiday for everyone like you, Wes!”) And that’s not true.

Not anymore, anyway. Maybe it was true a long time ago, when Halloween was a long, scary night where creatures like him could walk free.

There’s not a lot of physical differences between demons and humans but Wes remembers the pleasure of it, not having to think about every single one of his movements or the overly long roll of his neck or the discoloration of his sclera.

Not having to check whatever infernal grace shows in his hands and the lines of his back and makes human step away.

But now Halloween is just fake thrills and cheap laughs and small costumes. There might be some efforts to remember the bleak misery facing humans at the end of the harvest (seriously, watch out for the co-ops) when a long winter was coming and their demons stared them right in the eyes.

Wes might be grateful for Netflix and blenders but that doesn’t mean there aren’t some things he’d have back.

Or make disappear, like the photo negative of an “actual werewolf photo” poster Travis is holding.

Actual werewolves look nothing like that. They skew more toward gorillas than anything else. It’s a misnomer, really, but what could you expect from medieval peasants?

“Gimme that” he says, and pulls it out of his hands. Somebody out there has a wolfhound and is getting screwed out of the royalties. And just like that he’s at the point that he has to press his fingers against his palms by multiples of five and angle his head, and remind himself why he’s doing this.

For all the years that the biggest danger is an assault on their good taste ( _his_ good taste, Travis’ taste is 'yes’), there’s every year like last year, when a necklace that looked like shoddy costume jewelry, covered in scrapes and cracks, had one hell of a curse on it (“pun intended”, Travis says every time he tells the story and ever time Wes groans and rolls his eyes).

Travis had picked it up of course, because the thing had a compulsion on it and because he would have done it anyway, and Wes had snatched it back instinctively.

The second it touched his skin, it had cracked completely, pouring out sickly light and he’d put his other hand over it, using all his strength to close the door it had wrenched open.

When he’d finished, they’d both been panting next to grinning plastic skeletons in a store they’ve never gone back to, Wes’ hands smoking and blackened to the elbow.

He can’t really remember the hours afterward, except for Travis’ arms around his waist holding him up and his lips soft at his ear ( _thank you, it’s okay now, I got you ice_ ).

He’s still thinking about it when they get to a stuffed cross eyed spider with orange striped legs, _‘spoopy’_ stitched onto its abdomen.

He picks it up because he’s going to throw it right at Travis’ face and when he turns there’s no one there.

Before he can imagine too many horrors, like the werewolf poster being possessed by the spirit of a scammer or Dracula merchandise come to life, something plastic slides into his hair and there’s a whisper of laughter on his cheek.

He twists around and Travis is grinning so hard his face might split.

“There! Now you look the part”.

Wes pulls the headband off and squints suspiciously at it.

It has two red felt demon horns on it.

Travis completely deserves to be shoved into the nearest rack.

While he’s winded, Wes puts the headband on him. “You’re supposed to dress up as what you’re not, dumbass”. And then a smile spreads on his face as Travis looks around wildly for open portals to nether dimensions, or anything else that could make Wes look like that.

Hellhounds, maybe. Those were cool.

—

(Every time someone at the office Halloween party calls him a spoilsport for dressing up in his usual suit and calling it a human costume, he tells them it was Travis’ idea.)


End file.
